Playdates
by allthingsdecent
Summary: Post Act Your Age. What if House and Cuddy really DID go to that play? Lots of the OT3 in this.


**Just some post Act Your Age shenanigans.  
I wrote the first scene, loved it, and then had no idea what to do with it.**

**But thanks to moral support from V and a particularly good suggestion from Maya295, I think I was able to salvage it (barely).**

**Again, low expectations will be in my favor here.**

Cuddy made a face at House.

"A play? You want to take me to a play?"

House shrugged.

"Why not?"

"Because the only reason Greg House would ever go to a play is to get laid after said play."

House smiled.

"How is it that you know this but Wilson doesn't?"

"Years of field research."

House raised his eyebrows.

"So. . .?"

"So do I want to go to a play as a pretext for having sex with you?"

"We can skip the play, if you want to avoid the pretext."

"Dream on, House."

"What happened to October/October?"

"Your real age may be October but your emotional age is strictly January," Cuddy replied.

She started to walk toward her office.

"If I recall correctly, the last time you saw this play, you really liked it," House said with a smirk, following her. "You gave it a rave a review."

"The curtain closed on that play years ago," Cuddy said, smirking back.

House shrugged in defeat.

"No shot, huh?"

"No shot," Cuddy said, with a flirtatious smile. She strode into her office.

House turned to leave.

Then he stopped dead in his tracks.

"Wait a second," he said. "So you _did _want to sleep with Wilson!"

Cuddy looked a bit taken aback.

"How did you come up with that?"

"You know that going to a play is code for sex and yet you went to a play with a Wilson."

"House, I know this is hard for you to wrap your mind around, but some people actually want to see the play. We both did."

"But you just said that no guy wants to see a play without ulterior motives."

"Actually, I said that about you, not men in general."

"Wilson is a man. I'm a man. It's the same basic anatomy at work—give or take a couple of inches."

And he gave a boastful smile to suggest that in his case, the inches were given.

"You and Wilson may be the same gender, but you're practically a different species."

"But he's an October."

"True," Cuddy conceded.

"And Jewish. Smart. Boyishly goodlooking. Apparently likes plays. Why don't you like Wilson?"

Cuddy blushed a bit.

"He's a dear friend. I just don't think of him that way," she said hastily.

"I see," House said, leadingly.

"You see what?"

"That going to a play with him is safe. Going to a play with me on the other hand. . ."

"Don't flatter yourself House."

"Just trying to follow your logic."

"I'm not afraid to go to a play with you."

"Prove it by going to a play with me."

Cuddy cocked her head, tapped a pencil on the desk.

"What play is it?"

"Uh. . ."

She glared at him.

"You don't even have tickets!"

"Of course I do. They're in my desk drawer. The title has momentarily slipped my mind."

"Well, get back to me when you have an actual offer to make."

He grinned at her.

"Oh, consider the offer already made. The rest is just details."  
#######

A week later, Wilson approached Cuddy in the cafeteria.

He was about to join her, as usual, but she looked so deep in thought, he actually hesitated.

"Mind if I join you?" he asked.

She snapped out of her trance.

"Of course! Why would you even have to ask?"

"Looked like you were working something out. I thought maybe you wanted to be alone." Cuddy gave a half shrug.

"Actually, I was thinking about something. . ." she admitted, cautiously.

"If you don't want to tell me, that's fine," Wilson said, sitting down.

Cuddy took a bite of her carrot stick.

"If you must know, I was thinking about House."

"Shocker."

"You might be surprised to hear this, but we, uh, went to a play last Friday."

Wilson paused for a second, then shook his head, smiled.

"Actually, that's the least surprising thing I've heard all week. . . And, for the record, I wouldn't stress over it too much. A course of antibiotics should clear up whatever he gave you."

Cuddy looked up, slightly embarrassed.

"That's just the thing," she whispered. "We didn't sleep together. He didn't even hit on me."

"But House only takes women to plays so that he can—"

"I know!" Cuddy said. "That's the point! It was very disconcerting."

Wilson chuckled.

"So let me get this straight. House didn't hit on you. And that _bothered you_?"

"No lewd comments. No attempts to cop a feel during the second act. He didn't even leer at me—once. And trust me, I was wearing a killer dress."

"I'm sure you were."

"And then, after the play, he said—and I quote—'That was fun,' and he didn't even bother to walk me to the door."

"Chivalry is not one of his strong points."

"But _that was fun_? Not, how about an encore baby? Or. . . let's take a spin on the casting couch."

"Excellent House impression, by the way."

"Thank you. . .I have to admit I found the whole thing vaguely. . . insulting, ya know? It's not like I wanted to sleep with him"

"Of course not."

She ignored him.

"I just felt kind of . . rejected. I feel like I should get a tee-shirt: I Went To a Play With Gregory House and All I Got Was This Lousy T-Shirt."

"I'm sure House already has a tee-shirt like that in his vast collection."

Cuddy played with her food a bit, then squinted at him.

"Can you. . .do me a favor? Can you find out from House if he was just screwing with me? Because if Gregory House took me to a play because he actually wanted to go to a play, I don't even know who I am anymore."

"I refuse to be the go-between between you guys," he said. "You're both grown ups. Well, at least one of you is. . .Cuddy, work this out yourself."

"Don't be an ass, Wilson," Cuddy said, standing up. "All you and House do is gossip about me anyway."

Wilson shrugged in a "fair point" sort of way.

Cuddy picked up her tray. "I have an appointment. Report back, Wilson. That's an order."

And she strode off.

As if on cue, House materialized at Wilson's side. He watched Cuddy walk away, looking immensely pleased with himself.

"That was about me, wasn't it?" he said, sliding into the booth.

"If you must know, yes."

"It's driving her crazy that I didn't hit on her."

"Right again."

House grinned.

"House 1. Cuddy zero."

Wilson contemplated him.

"So what's your next move?"

"Next move? There is no next move. I already won."

"Won what?"

"Cuddy thinks I'm not into her."

"But you are into her."

"Of course I am. You should've seen this dress she had on. It was like she had been _poured _into it."

"Well, I can certainly see how you would characterize the evening as a rousing success."

House squinted at him.

"I'm playing the long game, Wilson. . . Like your date was any better."

"My date wasn't a date. It was two colleagues going to a play. Your date was a continuation of the world's longest mating ritual."

"Cuddy gets off on thinking she has me wrapped around her finger. Now I've given her reason for pause."

"Excellent strategy."

House frowned.

"So what would you have done differently, Dr. Ruth?"

"I'd ask her out. I'd kiss her goodnight. I'd ask her out again. I'd kiss her goodnight again, a little longer this time. I'd ask her out a third time…and possibly get lucky."

"And then on the fourth date, you'd ask her to marry you."

"Hey, you asked for my advice."

"Wilson, you're the last guy on earth I'd take dating tips from. Now tell me everything Cuddy said…and be specific."

#####

Later that day, Cuddy turned up in Wilson's office.

"So?" she said.

"So what?" Wilson said, playing dumb.

"What did House say?"

"He had a message for you."

"Yeah?" she perked up.

Wilson gestured for Cuddy to come closer. Then he said in her ear: "The message is. . .LEAVE ME OUT OF IT."

"Ouch," she said, annoyed, rubbing her ear. "And I'm pretty sure that wasn't his message."

"No. It's mine. Look here's the bottom line: He's too much of a pussy to you ask you out, so you're going to have to do it yourself—or shut up about it. This is the last bit of advice I'm giving you on this matter. As far as I'm concerned, Operation Take Cuddy to a Play is over."

"He loved the dress, didn't he?"

And Wilson put his head in his hands.

#####

The next day, House slid into the booth across from Wilson in the cafeteria.

"What's the latest?" he said happily. "Is Cuddy still nursing her wounded feminine pride?"

Wilson glared at him.

"I don't want to talk about this," he said.

"C'mon. Don't be a killjoy. Is she wondering if it's something she said? Something she wore? Something she _didn't_ wear?"

"House. Ask her out. Or don't ask her out. But leave me out of this. I'm done!"

And he took his tray and walked off in a huff.

#####

Undeterred by Wilson's little tantrum, the next day, House was back in Wilson's doorstep, asking for more Cuddy-related intel.

"Spill it, Wilson."

"What am I, The Cuddy Intelligence Agency?"

"You're galpals. She talks to you. I just need to know where her pretty little head's at."

Wilson looked at him.

"Well, I wasn't going to say anything," he said conspiratorially. "But. . ."

"But what?" House said.

"I spoke to Cuddy and she said that she's had a change of heart. She's achieved some . . . clarity."

"Clarity?" House narrowed his eyes. "What kind of clarity?"

"She said that your ill-advised date made her realize that you're a manchild who will never step up to the plate and couldn't handle a real woman if she came to his door gift-wrapped."

"Shut up."

"That was a direct quote."

"Manchild?"

"Manchild who couldn't handle a real woman," Wilson said. "To be precise."

House folded his arms, looked incredulous.

"That little wench…"

And he left.

Ten minutes later, Cuddy was in Wilson's office.

"Are you done being coy and are you going to tell me what House is up to?" she said.

"To be honest, I didn't want to say…" Wilson demurred.

Cuddy narrowed her eyes.

"Want to say what?"

"Well, it's just you and House have very different versions of what occurred on your date."

"Different how?" Cuddy said skeptically.

"You say he was aloof, indifferent. He says that you… well . . you threw yourself at him."

"_Threw myself_?"

"He said you were all over him. In the car. In the theater. And that if he wasn't such a gentleman, he could've had his way with you in the ladies lounge at intermission."

"You're lying!"

"Cuddy, why would I make such a thing up?"

Cuddy looked at him, first puzzled, then angry.

"That little shit…" she said, and stormed out.

Wilson watched her, folded his arms, and smiled.

######

They collided into each other in the hall.

"My office. Now!" Cuddy barked.

"With pleasure," House said.

And followed her in.

"How dare you?" Cuddy said.

"How dare me? How dare _you_?"

"You told Wilson I threw myself at you!"

House, who was about to lay into Cuddy, stopped. His mouth dropped open. "Wait. I what?"

"Wilson told me your little locker room lie: That I was all over you at the play. What is this? High school?"

"Cuddy, I never said that."

"Don't try to cover your ass. Wilson has no reason to make up something like that."

"Just for clarity's sake," House said, musingly. "You also didn't tell Wilson that I was a manchild who couldn't handle a real woman if she came to his door gift-wrapped."

"A manchild?" Cuddy said. "I wish I had said that, but no…I didn't."

They squinted at each other.

"He's messing with us," they said, in unison.

"And you know why, right?" House said.

"Why…?" Cuddy said, expectantly.

This was a pivotal moment for both of them.

They both knew the real reason Wilson was messing with them—to bring them closer together, possibly compel them to go on a second date.

However, if they acknowledged that fact, they'd be forced to defy him by _not_ going on another date. Which neither of them wanted.

"To. . . drive a wedge between us," House said.

Cuddy nodded, pleased with his improvisation.

"Exactly," she said.

"But it's not going to work. James Wilson thinks he's so crafty, but we'll show him. Dinner on Friday?"

"Totally."

"Pick you up 8?"

"Wilson will never know what hit him."

#####

At exactly 8 o clock, House knocked on Cuddy's door. (For the play, he hadn't bothered to knock—just honked.)  
He was wearing a sports jacket and tie. She was wearing skinny jeans, suede booties, and a men's-style white shirt, with enough buttons undone to be super sexy.

"I. . .uh. . . didn't know we were going someplace nice," Cuddy said. "I could change."

With one quick stroke, House deftly yanked off his tie and jacket and threw them into Cuddy's vestibule.

"Pete's for clam strips and beer?" he said.

"Perfect," she said.

And she took his arm.

The choice of Pete's was actually a good one. It didn't feel too weird for them. It was just like House and Cuddy hanging out, only with the distracting promise of a goodnight kiss. . .or more.

House kept Cuddy laughing, as he often did, doing his impression of a clam. ("Could someone turn on the lights in here?") and making fun of the bored elderly couple next to them ("Honey, while we patiently wait for death, should we stop by Pete's for some clam strips?")

One pitcher of beer turned into two, and they got increasingly comfortable with each other.

At one point, Cuddy took her thumb and wiped some cocktail sauce off House's lip, but instead of wiping it on a napkin, like most women would, she slowly licked it off her thumb.

House had to practically roll his tongue back in his mouth.

By the time they finished their meal, they were sitting side by side, their arms and hands grazing each other, almost twitching with erotic tension.

"Check please!" House bellowed.

House drove her home.

This time, he walked Cuddy to her doorstep.

In the back of his mind, he was thinking of Wilson's advice.: One kiss. (He'd made fun of Wilson, but in truth he heeded his friend's advice more often than not.)

"I had fun," he said.

"Me too," Cuddy said, and she gave a kind of girlish, coquettish smile that drove him crazy.

He leaned down, and she got on her tip toes, and they kissed. Simple. Soft. Their mouths slightly parted. Barely a whisper of tongue.

"That was nice," Cuddy said.

He looked at Cuddy's face. Her half smile. Her closed eyes. Her bee-stung lips.

Technically this was their second date, right?

In a somewhat urgent way, he leaned down again, took her in his arms, and they kissed a second time—a longer kiss, with more tongue, and House's hands running up and down her back and through her hair and Cuddy's hands on his face.

Now they both staggered back, slightly out of breath—and looked at each other.

"Good night," House managed to choke out.

"Good night," Cuddy said, slightly dazed.

And he limped to his car and forced himself to drive away.

When he was a teenager and he used to tell girls he'd suffocate if they didn't touch his cock, put in their mouth.

"Men have actually been known to die from lack of sexual fulfillment, you know," he had said. (It was amazing how often this line worked—for him at least.)

This was how he felt now, driving home, thinking of her mouth, her hair, her skin, her touch.

Fuuuuuuuuck. He actually _was_ going to die from lack of sexual fulfillment.

And then it occurred to him. He had an excuse to go back.

He picked up his phone. But before he could dial, he heard a voice.

"House?" Cuddy's said, surprised.

He looked down. She had called him first.

"Cuddy?"

"You, uh, left your jacket and tie here."

"I know. I was just about to call you."

"So I could bring them by your office on Monday. Or you could…come back now and get them."

"I'll come back now," he blurted out.

And sped back to her house.

When she opened the door, she wasn't just holding the jacket and tie—she was _wearing_ them. The jacket, with the sleeves rolled up, dwarfing her petite frame, and the tie, slung low on her neck, just under the gorgeous line of cleavage. Her hair was up in a ponytail.

Was she trying to drive him crazy? He couldn't tell.

"My jacket and tie have never looked so good," he said.

"It's not your jacket and tie. It's my costume," she said.

"Costume?"

"For my play: Legally Brunette."

"You know how much I love plays," House said, eagerly.

"You're especially going to like this one," Cuddy said. "Sit."

And she led him into her living room.

"Scene 1, Act 1: Is it Hot in This Courtroom or Is it Just Me?" she said, fanning herself.

"It's hot," House said, spreading his legs in anticipation. "Very very hot."

"This play is not audience participation," she said, with a wicked smile. "_Yet_."

House gulped

"The judge says I need to drop my suit," Cuddy cooed. (For some reason, she had given her "character" a Southern accent.)

"Just to be clear here, are you a dude?" House said. "Because I'm totally willing to go gay for you if you are, but it would be better if you were just a female lawyer who happened to like menswear."

"House. . . shut up. You're ruining the mood."

"I won't say another word. . .except, love the Southern accent. Adds a certain Cuddy on a Hot Tin Roof quality . . ."

She took off the jacket, threw it across the room.

"I should probably withdraw my briefs, too," she said sexily, biting on a pencil.

She kicked off her black booties.

Then she unbuttoned her fly, wriggled sexily out of her skin-tight jeans.

She was just wearing her white shirt, the tie, and white lace panties. Any chance at suppressing his boner was completely shot now.

"That's a violation of the penal code," she said, looking at his pants, with a tiny leer.

"Just for the record this is more like an awesome dream I once had than a play," House said.

She shot him a look.

"Hoooooouse," she groaned. "Are you physically incapable of shutting the fuck up?"

"I'm sorry. Please continue. There's an Emmy Award—"

"A Tony Award. . ."

"A Tony Award in your future."

Cuddy smiled, resumed her performance.

"I'm having trouble with the buttons," she said, liltingly. "I've always relied on the kindness of strangers. Are there any members of opposing counsel with strong, steady hands who can help?"

House looked over his shoulder nervously. Then he cautiously raised his hand.

"Yes, you, counselor. Can you help me with the buttons?"

And she sat on his lap, straddled him.

He slowly unbuttoned her shirt. He was staring at the taut skin of her stomach, at her thighs that were wrapped around his waist. He didn't know how much longer he could wait.

"That's much better," she said.

Then she took her hair out of the ponytail, shook it loose. A few strands fell into his face.

"Cuddy. . ." he said.

"Looks like the judge has handed down a particularly stiff sentence," she said, staring at his crotch again.

"Cuddy. . ." he said again.

He couldn't wait another moment. His hand gravitated to her ass. He kissed the hollow of her neck. Then his mouth moved to her chest.

She squirmed a bit on his lap.

"Perhaps the counselor would be kind enough to remove my bra."

She was so turned on herself, she had dropped the Southern accent.

Eagerly, he unsnapped her bra and it fell off her to the ground.

Her breasts. Holy fuck, her perfect, perfect breasts.

"Woman, what are you doing to me?" he said.

Not able to contain himself, he took one breast in his mouth, his tongue curling over the nipple, then moved to the other.

"Order in the cou—" but she lost her focus, because hands were back on her ass, reaching under the panties.

"Fuck it," Cuddy said, kissing him deeply and squeezing him more tightly with her thighs. "It's intermission. How'd you like the first act?"

"I loved it," he breathed. "I give it 4 stars."

She reached down his pants and pulled out his cock, gently guided him inside her, began rocking on his lap.

"I'm ready for Act 2," she said. And they both moaned.

#####

On Monday, Wilson spotted House and Cuddy sitting together in the cafeteria, their heads bent toward each other. Smiling proudly, he strode up to them. He was practically whistling a happy song.

"This looks mighty cozy," he said.

They ignored him.

"So by any chance did you two _hang out_ this weekend?"

House took a sip of his drink.

"If you must know, we took in a few plays."

"A few?"  
"Four or five," House said.

"Or eight," Cuddy snorted.

"Wow House. And here I thought you didn't like plays."

"Turns out he's a real patron of the arts," Cuddy said.

And House grinned at her, raising his eyebrows.

"So just for the record, your little plan didn't work, Wilson" House said.

"Clearly not."

"That'll teach you to meddle in other people's affairs," Cuddy said.

"Lesson learned," Wilson said. "So you think I might be able to come to one of these plays?"

"Hell no!" House and Cuddy said in unison.

THE END


End file.
